In Sickness and in Health
by nattylovesjordy
Summary: There are some days when you really just do not want to be sick. A series of one-shots. Castle/Beckett. Fluff. Humor. You decide.
1. Books, Beckett, and Benadryl

**_Author's Note: _**_Hello everybody! Welcome to my series of one-/two-shots. Seems like a weird idea, having a series based on people getting sick, but when inspiration strikes... Anyways, who gets sick, when they're sick, the situations that arise from their sickness, etc., will vary, but the fluff of them being there for each other will always remain._

_**Summary: **Castle wakes up feeling ill the morning of a book signing. Kate comes to the rescue._

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><p><strong>In Sickness and i<strong>**n Health**

_Books, Beckett, and Benadryl_

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><p>If there were ever an inopportune time for Castle to get sick, the first day of his publicity tour would be the day. To make the situation even better, his day was jam-packed with readings, not just signings. Signings, he might be able to sludge though, bur readings, with his burning, hoarse throat, would be impossible. Paula was definitely going to murder him.<p>

She even said as much when she graced him with his 7:00am wakeup call and he coughed. In as few words as possible, he portrayed that there was no way his voice and throbbing head would allow him to read and sign today. Ever the kind, understanding woman that she is, she barked orders for him to take a shower and be ready in an hour, "sick" or not. Her tone sounded as though she thought he was faking it.

Never one to defy a strong, powerful, scary woman, he slowly made his way under the hot spray of water. The steam opened up his sinuses, but the nausea, headache, and destroyed throat definitely did not vanish.

In a slightly hallucinogenic daze, he managed to pull out a dark navy suit and deep purple shirt. He didn't bother to do his hair, another grievance that would inevitably work against him when lovely Paula saw him, but he did brush his teeth.

Haphazardly lounging on the couch, moments from falling back into a sick-induced fit of sleep, something heavy started pounding on his door. As much as the loud noise made his head beg for it to stop, his voice couldn't bother to yell that he was making his way to the door to face the offender.

When he swung the door open he was surprised to see no other than Kate Beckett at his doorstep. He tried to come up with some witty greeting or snarky comment about her random appearance, but he felt so miserable every possibility would have fallen flat.

Before saying anything, her hand stuck out and shoved a large, hot cup into his chest. "Tea and honey," she explained. "My mom used to make it for me when I was sick. Does the throat wonders."

Grateful, he took a large sip, allowing the burning, magic liquid to slide down his throat.

His eyes fluttered shut as the heat soothed his pain. When he lifted his heavy, swollen lids, he quietly asked, "Why are you here?"

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, shifting her weight to her left foot in her pseudo-annoyed stance. "Hello, Kate. Thanks for the tea, Beckett. How are you doing this morning, and why ever are you here on your _day off_, Detective?"

With a pathetic smile truly vouching for how sick he really was, he said, "I don't use your name that often." Again, she rolled her eyes. "But really. What...?"

"Your publicist called, said she needed someone to read for you."

"But why..." The end of his question was stopped short by a series of coughs.

"Me? Because I'm Nikki Heat. Why did I come? You didn't think I'd leave you stranded, did you?"

He opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words to say.

"Come on, Castle," she instructed, her tone soft and caring, yet daunting and demanding. "Grab your phone, your coat, and let's go."

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><p>If ever a time came when he would doubt how extraordinary she is, Castle would chose this moment as his evidence to rebut it.<p>

He knows she's never been a fan of dealing with the press-related consequences of being his Detective Heat, is never one to ask for the spotlight, or even volunteer to take it on. Yet, for nearly 30 minutes she sat by his side and read to his fans because he couldn't.

Evil Dragon Lady, as he was now referring to Paula as, had tried to instruct her how to read, and gave her specified passages that were sure to be "crowd pleasers," but he stopped her. With as much of an authoritative tone as he could muster up, he informed Evil Dragon Lady that Kate was welcome to read whatever passage she pleased. Knowing she was a true fan, and someone who appreciates his words, he trusted that she would choose the right section to read from.

Exactly as he thought, she did him proud. She chose from one of his least popular, older novels, and he could feel more than see the smoke coming out of Evil Dragon Lady's ears and nose, but she chose words that meant something.

When he wrote _A Rose for Everafter_, he had been struggling through the hurt and brokenness of the ending to his and Kira's personal story. The words in the passage were meant to illustrate his heartbreak, his desperation. Everyone had always criticized those parts of the novel for being much more romantic and sappy than was Richard Castle's norm.

But now, getting to hear those words flow from her lips, the criticism meant nothing. They were true and they meant something unique to them, him and Beckett.

He would later brush it off as being exhausted and sick, but hearing her read definitely plunged him into an emotional whirlwind. The cadence of her voice, the soft influx of her tones, warmed the weak heart in his chest. He tried to school his features, and keep from staring at her in bewilderment, but he was so touched by the sincerity of her tone.

The room was silent as she closed the cover of the book. Finally, she looked up at the crowd, and noticed the familiar looks on their faces—it is exactly what she thought her expression to be after she read the same pages.

Castle cleared his throat and placed his hand on her knee. She looked over at him in response to his warm, heavy hand, and he shot her a small, thankful smile before turning to his fans. "Thank you," he said before bowing out. Quickly, with a desire to be without an audience, he stood up and pulled out her chair before ushering her into the back room.

Castle vaguely listened to the instructions being given to them as he aimlessly flipped through the pages of the book Kate had just been reading from. Paula's shrill voice was saying something about how she had wanted Kate to read from his most recent novel, to bump sales, and even though the audience loved what Kate read, it still was wrong. He paid no attention. His fingers trailed along the pages, opening the book to pages with corners bent with purpose. Every page he flipped to he knew what he had written.

Before he got to the next page she had marked, though, her hand shoved his fingers off the book like all of the times she has stopped him from messing with the radio, bringing his attention back to her. She was focused on his publicist's words, nodding her head and taking in her duties for the signing, but she was so attuned to him that she couldn't help but notice his actions.

Evil Dragon Lady left with a warning glare to hurry up and get his butt out there signing books, but he paid no attention to her. Instead, he turned his body towards his partner.

Placing his hand on her arm, he knitted his eyebrows and whispered, "Thank you, Kate," his low voice enhancing the truth and meaning of his sentiment.

She nodded and bit her lip, a tell-tale sign that told him her choice really had been with purpose. Somehow, knowing even the slightest of her feelings made him feel so much better, even if his body was still fighting to regain balance.


	2. Storms, Sofas, and Sleep

**_Author's Note: _**_A big, giant, germ-free thank you to everyone who responded to the previous chapter! Lots of story alerts, a few reviews, and a big smile on my face! Sorry it took so long to get this one up. Once I finally have it ready, the site is messed up in every possible way._

**_Setting: _**_For future reference, I probably will not have a specification of "when" these chapters take place. Character wise, they make most sense closer to S4 than S1/S2, but it's really mostly irrelevant__. However, you may notice this chapter does hint at a Post-S3 Finale setting._

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><p><strong>In Sickness and in Health<strong>

_Storms, Sofas, and Sleep_

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><p>Rain pounded on the sidewalk outside her apartment, the collective, unharmonious symphony of individual drops of cold liquid slapping the pavement. The rain did not drip, did not simply fall or hit the earth. The rain <em>pounded<em>, pummeled into the surfaces of the city with the force of thousands of punches. The rain came down with such intensity that it seemed angry, almost like the skies of heaven had opened up and God was smiting the world.

Kate snorted. It was such a Castle thought. Next would be some silly metaphor giving lightening magical, possibly CIA-related or extraterrestrial, properties.

With thoughts of Castle's words and his husky, occasionally rugged voice floating through her mind, Kate raised her arms above her head and scooted down the bed. She felt unusually stiff, her muscles particularly tense. The protest of her muscles, and the strong urge to stay wrapped up in the warm comforter with a book for the duration of the storm made the usually work-driven Detective desire a day in bed.

As she stood up, an immediate wave of nausea hit her head and stomach, washing bodily exhaustion and weakness over her limbs. Her muscles no longer felt tense, but stiff with sickness. She let out a moan in protest to feeling light, but the heavy throbbing in her throat silenced the sound and transformed it into a fit of painful coughs.

Without a thought of duty and responsibility, Kate fell face first onto the soft cloud of her bed, her nose breathing in the remnants of her shampoo's scent on her pillow. She nudged her toes under the fluffy comforter until her bare thighs were protected against the harsh chill, and fell asleep.

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><p>The knocks were nearly impossible to hear over the raging clouds and angry splashing and pattering of the rain, even to the one pounding on the apartment door. To the sleeping woman on the inside, the knocks were not heard, consciously or otherwise, over the thunder, rain, and whistling winds.<p>

Her phone's vibrations against the wood nightstand next to the bed also blended in with the storm until the person had called her so many times her phone had fallen off the edge and clattered to the floor.

Startled awake, Kate clutched a fist of blanket at her chest. She rationalized the sound as thunder until she heard the familiar rattle of her phone's vibration.

Sluggishly, with her eyes closed, her hand searched next to her bed for the phone. When her fingers met nothing but a pen, novel, and lamp, Kate slowly sat up, carefully sitting up at the waist. She spotted her phone on the rug. The screen lit up, illuminating Castle's grin, ruffled hair, and squinted eyes.

"Castle," she croaked, licking her dry, enflamed lips.

"Kate? Oh thank God," he sighed, almost rushing to get the words out. Even sick, and very disoriented, Kate could imagine the writer running his fingers through his hair. "I've been knocking. And calling. I was about to call Ryan and Esposito to start a search party."

She moaned. "No need. Alive."

"Doesn't sound like it," he quipped. "Let me in. I brought chicken noodle soup Alexis and I whipped up, plenty of medicine, and entertainment."

"How'd," she started, but didn't finish. It hurt too much to speak.

Castle chuckled. "I know you, Detective. You would only miss work for a handful of reasons, the majority of which would most certainly warrant warm soup, a book, and a movie or two. The medicine was an added precaution."

Kate hummed in response, but didn't move. Her eyes fell shut, a welcomed reprieve from the weight of her lids. After a few moments of silence, moments that felt like hours to the sick woman with a slow sense of time, Castle's voice brought her back. He was asking if she'd let him in. Apparently he could only prop the grocery bag on his thigh for so long before all the other bags became overwhelming.

Somehow, Kate managed to shuffle to the door and open it. As if on autopilot, she immediately began heading back to her enticing bed, but Castle's index finger and thumb lightly wrapped around her wrist and redirected her to the couch.

Lacking the willpower to protest, she allowed him to wrap her in multiple blankets on her sofa. He quickly brought her medicine and took her temperature.

"I can take care of myself," she claimed, her weak voice betraying her. In a feeble attempt, she finally tried to knock his hand away.

He murmured, "I know," as he gently rested a wet cloth on her forehead. "But let me, just this once?"

She said, "Mmkay."

Throughout the course of the day, and the night, Kate faded in and out of consciousness. Castle made sure to keep a close eye on her, always providing her with a new dose of Tylenol the minute the last dose had worn off. She never seemed to fully recognize that he was there.

In the least that explained why she muttered, "Thanks, Dad," before burrowing her nose back into a pillow with a shake of her head.

After that he chose to ignore when she mistook his identity and continued his personal _Firefly_ marathon as he lightly rubbed her bare feet and listened to her dream-induced babble.

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><p>They both woke up sore the following morning, although for different reasons: she from the lingering bout of influenza, him from sleeping in a sitting position without neck support.<p>

He had fallen asleep during one of the last episodes of his favorite space western and forgot to move her back to her bed. With how damp the couch cushions felt around her fever-ridden and sweat-drenched body, he had a feeling it was a mistake he'd regret.

When she finally woke up, not long after he did, she seemed much more lucid. Her skin was still clammy and flushed, she still had too high of a fever, and her throat hadn't healed overnight, but she was beginning to act more like the woman he knew.

That and she hadn't mistaken him for her father when she came to.

Never one to waste a single minute, Kate instinctively sat up. Maybe it was out of habit, or maybe she felt the need to appear tall and strong in front of the man to her right. Either way, she quickly discovered that it was stupid and too soon.

She slumped into his side, her chin resting on his shoulder, her cold nose brushing his collarbone, and groaned, "My head hurts."

His hand rose to her forehead, the back of his palm softly resting on the heated skin. Slowly, without thinking about what he was doing, his fingers trailed down to her flushed cheeks, coming to a stop at her chin.

All thoughts of fevers and viruses were forgotten as his worn and calloused thumb tilted her chin up towards his. The dry throb in her throat, her aching back and limbs, the hot-chills, and the pulsating headache were all in the background as her bloodshot eyes met his perfectly clear orbs. His brow slowly relaxed, released the concerned expression, and his jaw grew slack. Her lips parted.

"Kate," he whispered, his warm breath fanning over her skin, almost sticking to it. Castle drew his thumb from her chin. Her eyes closed a little more each centimeter his hand moved away from her face. "Kate," he repeated, his tone deep, desire-laced, and entirely serious. "You're sick, but…"

This time, the hum of her throat wasn't from being ill. He was strong, warm, and comforting, but his words, the feelings so easily perceived behind them, pulled her in. Those feelings, those mutual feelings, were more comforting than his fingers that pushed back a strand of her greasy hair. It was that comfort, that sense of complete "rightness," that drew the deep, sensual hum.

She deliberately opened her eyes. After a silent conversation of blinks and deep breaths, Kate said, "Don't you go getting sick on me," with an attempt at adding humor into the situation. However, her voice came out as more of a dry whisper, sounded more like she seriously cared about his health. She supposed she did.

"But. Kate." His soft tone caressed her name, displayed his love for her. The cadence of his voice reminded her of another time when she was weak, another time his hand had brushed her forehead and cheeks. She opened her eyes.

"Castle, I know." She looked right at him, her own feelings for him to see. "I know. It can wait."

"No," he firmly interjected. The strength of his baritone voice startled them both. Quietly, he corrected," No. It can't. Not anymore; not another minute."

Kate opened her mouth to warn him, to tell him that as much as she wanted this, she was sure he, Alexis, and his mother did not want to be feeling as miserable as she had. He got to her first, though, his hungry lips pressing firmly into hers.

When one of her hands ran through the hair at the nape of his neck, it was both instinct and long pent-up desire to do just that. This more awake woman _definitely_ knew that this caring man was _not_ her father.

She pulled away first, her stuffed nose and sore throat making kissing less than ideal. As she struggled to inconspicuously search for air, Castle brushed his lips over her lips and cheeks and jaw, eyes, and nose. Now that he had gotten to kiss Kate Beckett, he never wanted to stop. The flu be damned.


	3. Germs, Grumps, and Golden Arches

_**Author's Note: **Here's the consequence of Prince Charming's kiss! Enjoy, and thank you again!_

__**Setting: **Takes place after the last chapter (Chapter 2: Storms, Sofas, and Sleep).__

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><p><strong>In Sickness and in Health<br>**_Germs, Grumps, and Golden Arches _

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><p>"You got me sick," he growled. His voice sounded weak, and his throat was clearly constricted, but his tone was entirely full of annoyance and able to convey a classic Castle whine.<p>

Though she was sure he truly was annoyed that he was missing a very "Castle" case—what isn't interesting about clowns, strippers, and a slew of conspiracy-theorist murder suspects?—she chuckled at his antics. "You were the one with the brilliant idea to kiss me, Castle."

"Oh, no, Detective Beckett," he shot back. "You most certainly asked for it."

There was a pause in conversation as Kate refused to take his bait, refused to play the childish "no you did-no you did" game with the biggest man-child she's ever met.

Ever the conversationalist, though, Castle could only allow the silence to last for a few moments. "So, are you coming over?"

"Coming over?" she echoed.

"Yeah, you know," he answered, his tone implying that his reasoning was universally understood—common sense. "Since I took care of you, it's your turn to return the favor."

She sighed for theatrics, pulling a move from his own playbook, but, truthfully, she was not feeling well enough to be chasing down more clowns, strippers, or conspiracy-obsessed men and conducting their interrogations. Though she would never admit it, her thighs were still a bit shaky, her throat a tad dry, and the remnants of a headache still lingered. None of that had stopped her from going to work after only two days of being bed-ridden by the flu, but it sure was stopping her from being efficient.

"See? You're tired. Let the guys do their jobs. After all, they were doing just fine without you."

Kate squeezed her bottom lip between her teeth and sighed, "Gates…"

"Will have to understand," he filled in, cementing her decision.

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><p>Alexis let her in, a weary expression on the youthful girl's face. Beckett didn't even need to ask why she was filled with trepidation, immediately understanding the girl not wanting to get sick and miss school. Apparently Alexis wasn't convinced the Detective was fully healthy yet; before Kate had even taken off her coat, the redhead was already on her way up the stairs, casually informing Kate of her father's location without so much as a glance over her shoulder.<p>

With a series of helpful texts from Martha, who was staying at a friend's apartment—"I have an audition, darling," she had said. "I simply cannot afford to catch whatever Richard has!"—Kate had brought a few items that the said man-child prefers whenever he is sick.

And yes, one of those items was a Happy Meal from McDonald's.

Clutching the gold handles of the red box in one hand and two water bottles in the other, Kate lightly pushed the bedroom door open with the toe of her boot. She silently prayed that he was decent. And conscious. So help her God if she had to order a Happy Meal and look like an idiot only to find Castle asleep and have the food get cold.

"Beckett!" he exclaimed, habitually using the full of his voice. After coughing a few times, he added, "Thanks for coming," in a much quieter tone.

She nodded towards the bed, silently telling him to sit up. He complied, scooting his back further up the headboard with more ease than Kate had managed when she was sick, or even that morning when she was "feeling better."

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Are you actually sick, Castle, or did you fake it just to get me to play hooky?"

Castle raised his palms in surrender. "I'm sick, I swear."

"Mhm," Kate replied, disbelief in her voice and expression.

"Once Alexis and Mother heard me cough and found I had a fever of 100.3, they refused to come anywhere near me. I didn't get it as bad as you, but I promise, my intentions are pure… mostly."

His line of sight shifted down to the red and gold box now resting against her hip. She quickly caught on. "Oh." Her eyebrows rose. "So you're just using me for the food? I see how it is."

His gaze snapped back to hers, eyes wide, but she threw him the little box of joy anyways. After he opened it he looked up at her and noticed her hesitation. "Are you—?" He cleared his throat. "Would you like to sit?" he asked, waving his arm over the empty side of the bed. When she didn't reply, he added, "I was just watching an old episode of Pinky and the Brain."

It took a few more seconds of tension-filled staring, but she did finally cross the room to the other side of the bed, slip her shoes off, and sit. At first, she remained on top of the deep red covers, arms crossed over her chest as she sat with her back pressed firmly into the headboard. Castle watched as she crossed, uncrossed, and re-crossed her sock-covered ankles before he picked up the remote and turned the show back on.

Eventually, she relaxed. It started by shifting so she was lying on one hip, her knees curled towards him. It looked uncomfortable in Castle's eyes, sitting with her legs going to the left but her back staying straight against the headboard, but he could see a peaceful expression had fallen over her features.

Next, she uncrossed her arms, allowed them to fall to the side, palms up. Lastly, and most importantly to Castle, she slid down and rested her head on the pillow.

He remained mostly silent for the duration of the afternoon, content to have her with him and trying not to spook her with a comment about how comfortable she looked in his bed and how happy he was for that.

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><p>When he woke up the next morning, she was still there, curled up on his mattress, an arm bent under her head, his arm wrapped around her waist. He isn't sure when he fell asleep, or when she fell asleep, but he didn't care. Waking up next to her was the best of medicines.<p> 


	4. Comfort Food Poisoning

**_Author's Note: _**_The last two chapters veered a bit from my original intention: Castle and Beckett were sick without a reason that made their incapacitation significant. So, we're going back on track. This chapter makes being sick more "bummer-ish" than the last two._

_I have to say, the response/flood of emails I received after the last chapter was overwhelming. Seriously, SO many of you added this to your favorite and/or story subscription list and every single email made me smile. Thank you, thank you, and thank you! I'm inexplicably honored._

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><p><strong>In Sickness and in Health<br>**_Comfort Food Poisoning: The Gift that Keeps On Giving_

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><p>A date. She had actually agreed to go out to dinner with him, and for her birthday no less. Well, maybe it wasn't a date, he reasoned, but he certainly was going to treat it as such. Kate Beckett had agreed to celebrate her birthday with him and the teenage-aged Bieber fan in him was doing a happy dance and squealing.<p>

That was a common occurrence, the surge of excitement and teenage nerves, throughout the week leading up to the non-date-but-_totally_-a-date-date.

The day before, she had sent him home early, unable to take his bouncing knee, constantly twitching fingers, excited but restless sighs, and frequent inquiries of what time it was. He tried to convince her to leave early as well, to start her weekend a few hours before closing time, but she had simply shoved him away and continued to fill out paperwork.

As they all had the next day, Saturday, off, Beckett allowed Ryan and Esposito accompany her to the comfort food truck and wish her an early Happy Birthday. The hot meal had reminded her of family-cooked dinners, warming her full belly with tasty food and fond memories.

… Until it wasn't all that fond.

Food poisoning, if she had to guess. Never had she experienced troubles with the food truck, but she certainly did later that evening. She woke up in a cold sweat around three in the morning, her stomach gurgling, and bolted to the bathroom. Struggling to pull her hair back, she leaned over the cold porcelain bowl and repeatedly expelled the remnants of dinner (and then some).

Once she thought she finally felt the lightness in her head fade, she moved to stand up, only for another immense wave of nausea to hit her. That decided her fate: she'd be spending the night on the bathroom rug, a towel as her only blanket.

Luckily, she did mange to doze off a few times, but a better part of the night was spent awake, dry heaving over the toilet and throwing up any liquids she did manage to drink from the faucet.

Somewhere around 9:00am she was able to make it to the kitchen. Her knees and lower back were sore from spending the night on the cold, hard floor, and the rest of her body ached from her immune system's battle.

Eyes closed, her hands felt around her kitchen to retrieve a sleeve of Ritz crackers and a teabag. Waiting for the kettle's shrill whistle, she leaned her forehead and arms against the chilled countertop. The water sloshed as she poured it, some spilling and creating a pool of water around where the mug sat. Too weak and tired to care, she dropped the teabag in the mug and left the water to dry itself.

With a cup of tea, her crackers, and an emergency barf bowl, Beckett made it back to her bedroom. The warmth of the tea and salt of the crackers seemed to help ease her stomach enough for her to fall back asleep for a few hours.

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><p>If it hadn't been for the gentle nudges of her shoulder, the deep, warm-toned voice would not have woken her from her slumber. Quite the contrary, the floating voice on the edge of her consciousness conjured up images of her and—<p>

"Castle," she grumbled, rolling from her side to her back, uncurling her body in the process. Still groggy from the sleep, and the overall exhausted and sick feeling controlling her body, her voice came out rushed and breathy when she asked, "What are you doing here?" Then she opened her eyes and noted his appearance. Suddenly, the reason didn't seem as important as the how. "_How_ did you get in?" she deadpanned, slightly more alert.

Without answering her question, Castle touched her clammy forehead. "What are your symptoms?" he asked. "Headache? Stomachache? Vomiting?"

"The last two," she answered, scrubbing her eyes with the base of her palms. "I think I got food poisoning."

Castle nodded in response before peeling the moist blankets from her skin. His concerned eyes scanned over her body, scrutinizing every unkempt detail. It made Kate squirm, but not because she feared he would replicate her situation in a novel. Instead, the expression in his eyes betrayed his practiced, unfazed mask. Clearly she looked a lot worse than she thought. She hadn't noticed the dried bile in her hair or the stains on her camisole like he did.

Plenty mortified, Kate was glad that he verbally noted nothing, instead only offering a, "Let's get you cleaned up."

She, of course, protested. When he cupped her elbow in his palm, she pulled her wrist to her chest and insisted that she could maneuver on her own. She sat up without help, albeit cautiously, but once she tried to stand her knees wobbled and his hand came once more to rest at her elbow.

He led her no further than the bathroom door, however. He wasn't stupid—he knew the independent Detective wouldn't want help in any aspect of that realm, so he didn't even bother to offer.

As she filled the bathtub with numbingly hot water, Castle raided her kitchen, searching for items to make soup. She didn't even have broth. She did have coffee, sugar, a stale loaf of bread, and plenty of takeout containers, but the only helpful item he could find was white rice.

He could work with rice, he reasoned. But only with a few supplemental items. Not wanting to disturb his daughter for help, Castle grabbed his keys, wallet, and jacket, and headed to the store himself.

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><p>"Knock knock." Castle's voice was muted by the bathroom door. Kate rolled her eyes under closed lids. "How's it going in there?"<p>

On the other side of the threshold, the writer heard the swishing and splashing of water and the squeak of her body in the tub. Then it was silent. He pressed his ear against the door, listening for more evidence of his partner on the other side.

The door suddenly opened and Castle stumbled forward. He just barely caught himself before running into her, but even that embarrassment didn't stop him from scanning her body with his eyes.

Small drops of water clung to her skin, some still, others dripping from the tips of her hair and slowly rolling down her chest. A rosy blush graced her cheeks from the heat of the water, and her lips were wet and full. The rush of cold air from outside the bathroom caused a single shiver to shake her frame. Goosebumps ran over her skin, tiny little pimples spreading upwards from beneath her towel to the hollow dip at the base of her neck.

His eyes met hers and he cleared his throat. Oh, how jealous he was of those drops of water and those goosebumps. "Dinner's ready."

She blinked. "I'm not sure I can keep anything down."

He shrugged before outstretching his arm, directing her to her bedroom. Previously leaning against the doorframe, Kate pushed herself forward. Again, she swayed. Castle steadied her with an arm on her shoulder blades, his thick fingers brushing the warm, damp skin above the edge of the rose-pink towel.

Her skin tingled and she shivered once more, leaning back into his touch when it felt like too far a distance to walk on weak legs.

She couldn't explain the feeling of exhaustion that had encapsulated her body. It seemed like there was no rational cause, that a long few hours of intermittent puking shouldn't cause such a weakness.

Just as the thought of being lucky by not expelling her stomach contents in front of her partner came to mind, her stomach churned. She moved as quickly as she could to close the distance between her and the bed. Pressing her fingers into her towel-covered stomach, she flung herself on her back over the comforter. Deep breaths helped her to calm down, keep control.

Castle watched her from the doorway before springing into action. "I'll get your clothes," he offered, making his way over to her drawers. He found a battered NYPD T-shirt, hoodie, and sweat pants with ease. He hadn't even encountered the fun stuff. Then he realized he'd have to find her underwear, too, and he wasn't sure he was prepared to open Pandora's box, even if it meant a possible glimpse of lace and exciting colors.

A hand on his forearm spared him the inevitable. "I got it from here, hotshot."

"Uh," he muttered, his eyes uncomfortably shifting side to side before focusing on the door. He uncurled his hand from the drawer's handle and took a step away from trouble. "Yeah. I'll, uh, go—be right back. With something for you to eat."

"And Castle?" Using all the strength she could as she leaned into the dresser for support, Beckett purposefully hooded her eyes and quietly said, "Tonight was a red and lace kind of night."

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><p>After her bland dinner of plain white rice, unseasoned chicken breast, and ginger ale, Kate curled up on her side and closed her eyes. She willed her mind to focus on everything but her increasingly upset stomach as Castle cleaned up in the kitchen.<p>

He had served her dinner in bed. Pillows propped her up so she could eat from the bowl he had placed on her lap. Next to her was a purple orchid that separated her from him.

"It's to help set the restaurant ambience," he had claimed.

It was all very sweet, she had to admit. From getting her groceries, to trying to act normal for her benefit, and even eating the same tasteless food as her, he was being truly kind.

And it didn't stop there. When he was done in her kitchen, he snuck into her room and turned off the light. The silver box was tucked under his arm again as he shielded the candle in a poppy seed muffin with a cupped hand. He refrained from singing, but when he sat down on the edge of the bed next to her hips, he did insist she make a wish.

Her eyes rose to his face. A small, happy grin teased his lips, the small flame reflected in his eyes. With each other's wholly happy faces engrained in their minds, they both closed their eyes and wished, unknowingly for the same thing, before she lightly blew out the flame.


	5. Hammocks and Heat

_**Author's Note:**__ So, remember the first chapter, how Beckett read for Castle? Well, I hadn't gotten to this one scene in the first Nikki Heat novel __Heat Wave__ when I wrote it. But, see, now I have, and so even though I already had her read once, I couldn't help myself. So she reads again. My bad, but it was_ so_ fun to write. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own _Castle_ or the novel __Heat Wave__, the latter from which the italic passages in the beginning of the second section originate. **Spoilers for Heat Wave**._

_**Setting: **I actually prefer that this happens earlier than later. Say, S2-ish?  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>In Sickness and in Health<br>**_Hammocks and Heat_

* * *

><p>"Detective Beckett! Thanks for coming!" Alexis peeled open the door and shuffled to the side to let Kate in, but the auburn-haired woman remained in her spot, her hands uncomfortably glued to her sides. "Dad's in the back," the teen added, hoping to encourage Kate to come in.<p>

Kate's mouth fumbled, her lips opening and closing, unsure of what to say. Alexis nudged the door open an inch more, an act that did not go unnoticed by the perceptive Detective as a necessary precaution of her job. She stepped into the loft, the heels of her boots making a few quick clacks on the floor.

"Dad just took his medicine so he won't need another dose for another few hours," Alexis rattled off, shuffling through a pile of papers on the kitchen island. Kate hadn't followed her over, hadn't even stepped away from the entryway. The younger, but much more responsible Castle quickly found what she was looking for: a list. "The doctor put him on a strict liquid diet." She looked up from the piece of paper and met Kate's eyes. "I've already caught him trying to eat a cookie. Twice. Here's a list of numbers—doctors, my friend's cell, the home phone of where I'll be."

The sheet of paper was forced into Kate's hands, and by the time she could react, Alexis was halfway out the door, a purse slung over her bare shoulder.

"Really, Detective Beckett. He's like a child; put on a movie and you're set."

With that, the door shut, and Kate was alone in Castle's loft. Well, relatively alone.

Before braving the bedroom, Kate looked over the various papers on the island. Paper work she could handle, paperwork she was familiar with. Moody, drugged men who are entirely dependent on her, she's not so certain she can handle.

A loud crash behind her sealed her fate. With a new resolve—she will _not _let Castle think she's uncomfortable or unsure of what to do—she headed in the commotion's direction.

* * *

><p>"<em>Instead, he held out his hand to her. She looked down at the salt on his skin and the lime between his thumb and finger. Nikki didn't look up at him because she was afraid if she did she would change her mind instead of taking the leap.<em>"

Kate paused, drew her eyes from the page to look into his. Two dark, black orbs stared back. The slack jaw couldn't be entirely attributed to her sexy reading of his own words, but it sure felt nice to take part in a bit of payback for all the pony-tail tugging.

"You're cruel," he moaned, his voice mangled, his throat congested.

Quickly, her eyebrow rose and fell in acknowledgement before she teased, "You were the one who wanted me to read."

Castle instinctively gulped under the heat of her stare. The pain it caused drew a wince. Kate reached forward to retrieve his cup of water and silently handed it to him. Somehow, he felt like he was being punished and patronized. By his mother. But damn was this woman too hot to be his mom… Wait.

She continued, bringing his drug-dumbed mind back from his own rugged handsomeness and Katherine Beckett's smoking hotness. "_She bent toward his hand and darted her tongue out, quickly at first,_" she slowly drawled, her body leaned in towards his, her lips mesmerizing and—"_But then, choosing to slow the moment down, she lingered there…_" Kate purposefully paused, moving a millimeter closer. Her tone dropped just a little lower as she said, with extra emphasis, "Licking _the salt off his skin. He offered her the shot and she fired it back and then, cradling his wrist in her fingers, she guided the lime wedge he was holding to her lips._"

He opened the eyes he hadn't known he had been closing when she stopped. "Mmm," he murmured. "Keep reading."

A quick dart of her pink tongue wet her lips and she recommenced. "_The burst of lime juice cleansed her palate, and as she swallowed, the warmth from the tequila spread from her stomach to her limbs, filling her with a luxurious buoyancy. She closed her eyes and ran her tongue on her lips again, tasting the citrus and the salt._ Nikki, still holding onto Rook's wrist, bit on his index finger. With the shock of the bite as a distraction, she flicked his ear to reprimand him for being so forthcoming and assuming."

"Hey!" Castle exclaimed, hastily sitting up on the couch. He watched as Kate closed the book, her index and middle finger marking the page. She chuckled, quietly laughing at how fun it was to lure him into her trap. _Two can play at that game_, he thought. Audibly, he coyly remarked, "The biting comes later."

She simply rolled her eyes and sat the book down on the coffee table. Hands on her thighs, she rose from her spot on the ground and checked her father's watch for the time. "How's the pain?" she asked.

Shoulders shrugged, but the grimace on his face as he leaned back into the pillows gave him away.

After a few minutes in his kitchen, Kate returned with two pills cupped in her palm and a yogurt tube in the other. "Squeeze, don't suck."

That caused a quirk of his eyebrows. Again, she rolled her eyes, this time at her accidental double entendre. She walked right into that one.

After a few moments of dealing with his yogurt, he whined, "I'm hungry," as he tossed the Go-Gurt on the table. They both frowned when the empty tube flew past its designated landing strip. "It's the Fourth of July, a day of hotdogs, hamburgers, beer, and pyrotechnics. But definitely a lot of beer."

"I doubt our ancestors fought for independence so you could be booze-happy and see some fireworks, Castle."

"Ah, but I _know_ they didn't fight so I could be stuck in my stuffy loft, recovering from oral surgery, and unable to light up the grill and get tipsy. After all, maybe they dumped all the tea in the water because the British refused to share their delicious brews."

"I'm pretty sure it was because of taxes," said Kate.

"It's a better story my way."

She didn't warrant that with a response and stayed silent for many minutes before asking, "Has the medication kicked in?"

A stream of saliva pooling at the corner of his mouth answered for him. From her interesting experience the day before when Kate picked him and Alexis up after the girl had unexpectedly called her from the outpatient center, frantic and unprepared, realizing Castle couldn't manage a taxi like they had thought, and neither of them willing to wait for his car service to show up, Kate knew that the drool definitely meant the drugs were working. She mentally crossed her fingers that the less intense drug wouldn't make him say ridiculous things, and make him repeat them twenty times like he had yesterday, even though one of Alexis' notes had warned her they still did. She also hoped he didn't want to move from the couch, because getting him into her cruiser hadn't gone smoothly.

"Kaaate?" he faux-sang. "I feel great. Can I have a cookie?"

She shook her head. "The doctor said no solids, remember? He doesn't want crumbs in your stitches, or for you to accidentally bite the side of your mouth."

Pouting, he said, "Alexis wouldn't let me have cookies either. How about cake? Cake is soft, like your hair."

"No cake."

If he was normally a thirteen-year-old boy, on the drugs he was five.

"Then will you take me to my hammock? I want to watch the sky light up."

Maybe five was being generous.

Hands rested on her cocked hip, her fingers tapping her belt, she replied, "Hammock? This is New York, Castle. People don't have hammocks."

"I do. Alexis got me one for my office so I could watch the fireworks," he confirmed, his tone and enthusiasm like that of an overdramatic child. Alexis had warned her, but this was ridiculous. A hammock?

When she pushed open the door to his office, per his request, she immediately spotted the large hammock hanging in front of the windows. The desk had been moved closer to the opposite wall, and the few items that usually adorned the windowsills had been moved elsewhere.

Kate looked over her shoulder in disbelief at there actually being a hammock and spotted Castle making his way towards her, wobbling, zigzagging, and stumbling over his sock-clad feet. By the time he reached her, he had to stop, close his eyes, and lean against the doorframe.

"Dizzy," he complained.

They stayed at the door until Castle's head stopped spinning and he felt like his legs wouldn't give out. His heavy arm wrapped around her shoulders, and he leaned the better part of his weight onto her.

A puff of air from her lips blew hair out of her eyes before she extracted herself from his hold and said, "Let's try to get you on this thing."

Without much thought, Castle threw himself onto the rope sling and immediately tipped to one side, his left hand and foot barely keeping him from clattering to the ground. Kate pressed down on the other side of the hammock while he scrambled to get up. She helped maintain a balance while he worked himself to the middle.

Ever the fidgeting child, though, he kept moving and tugging on blankets and pillows to make himself comfortable. After almost falling twice more, he stopped moving and hummed in delight.

"'Kay." Castle stared her down even though she was the one hovering over him. "Your turn."

Arms crossed, she asked, "My turn?"

"Mhm," he nodded. "You should get on before the show starts!"

Kate shook her head, gaze aimed at the ceiling. She tried to make him believe she was thinking he was ridiculous, which he was, but she really felt that creeping discomfort from when Alexis greeted her return. Being that close to him made her uneasy.

He replied, "Come on, don't be silly," all the while patting the sliver of weaved rope next to him. He noticed her jaw set and he knew a refusal was imminent, so he added, "Please?" in his most innocent, sincere voice.

"Alright," she sighed. "Fine. Scoot over."

Keeping up the annoyed act caused Kate to throw herself back with too much force. Castle's body went pummeling towards where her body dipped the hammock down, but he managed to wrap an arm around her torso and roll the opposite way to regain the balance of weight.

He left his arm around her, his fingers splayed over her stomach. Neither of them spoke, Castle content and Kate embarrassed. They were cramped together, her back flush with his chest, their legs tangled.

The silence continued, even after the fireworks started. Something about their proximity sobered Castle up, and, for a while, he focused on watching the bursts of color light up the night sky and paint Kate's face. Kate, on the other hand, was overcome with a surreal feeling of happiness. Somehow spending her holiday with this man, who may or may not be high and occasionally sniffing her hair because of that very fact, made for a great, fun evening.

A labored intake of breath behind her startled Kate, and she craned her neck to peer over her shoulder. The hammock swayed back and forth from her sudden movement, but they were in no danger of falling.

She inaudibly laughed. Who knew? Richard Castle ever so lightly snores in his sleep, and Kate Beckett even thinks it is kind of cute.


	6. Fingers, Flus, and Firecrackers

**_Author's Note:_**_ So, apparently I posted a July 4th chapter to this story at the end of March. I honestly had NO CLUE I did that (and why did I post that so early? Geeze). So, without knowing I had already done it, I wrote another 4th of July fic. Oops. _**  
><strong>

_My sincerest apologies for leaving this fic in the dust. Five literature classes really drain your time (and mental capacity) and I honestly just did not have the time (or mental capacity) to write. I do have more planned, and the last chapter written, so we'll play things by ear. Regardless, I apologize again for being M.I.A._

_**Setting: **I have none. It happens. Cannon doesn't really matter._

* * *

><p><strong>In Sickness and Health<br>**_Fingers, Flus, and Firecrackers_

* * *

><p>A repeated rhythm of a few seconds of pressure along her sore scalp followed by a quick tug of her hair slowly pulled her out of sleep. Each light tug, each time the cycle started again brought her further and further back to him, from a lifeless sleep, to a light slumber, the uncomfortable haze, and finally to the point where she could blink open bleary eyes.<p>

His throaty, quiet voice said, "Hey."

The fingers running through her hair paused as she shifted her body to look up at him through inflamed, teary eyes from sickness and sleep. "Hey," she answered, her voice warm and choked. Her lips felt suspended, nonexistent. Numb, loose, fat, and sloppy.

"Sleep well?" he asked, curling his board hand around her delicate neck. He gathered her hair with his left hand and pulled it out from under her head, fanning it out on his left thigh and the leather couch. On his right jean-clad thigh rested her feverous head.

Eyes closed, she nodded "Mhm."

Another hand came and rested on her stomach, lightly prodding and tracing absentminded shapes around her belly button. Slow soft circles. Lingering trails of curly-Qs and curved caresses.

A hum vibrated on her lips, inciting a buzzing feeling with the natural reaction.

"How's the stomach feeling?" asked the man.

"Better," was her only reply.

With eyes comfortably closed, she could not see the release of relief along his brow, the smoothing of worried lines along his forehead and the corner of his lips and eyes. Instead she focused on the trailing tips of his fingers.

"And the head?" The back of his palm, the silkier, more sensitive skin lightly touched her forehead to test the temperature. When she didn't reply, he added, in his still-quiet whisper, "You feel warm."

"Hands help."

He chuckled and simultaneously rubbed circles along her stomach and ran his fingers back and forth along her scalp. If he thought the comment would earn a chuckle he would have said something about successfully patting her head and rubbing her stomach, but he knew she wasn't feeling well enough to secretly appreciate his flat joke.

Instead, he knew she needed quiet and comfort, escape and steadfast support, even if she wouldn't admit the latter. And, as much as the vibrant bursts of color, sparkle of light, and distant crackles and booms may worsen the incessant, throbbing drum trapped in her head, behind her eyes and below her ears, Castle also knew that she needed to wave a firecracker and watch fireworks from the roof.

Kate Beckett was a patriot, a soldier who, in her own way, fights on no matter the task at hand or struggles presented; she battles the war at home, _in_ people's homes, and speaks for the oppressed who can no longer speak.

July 4th may traditionally be about acquiring America's independence, America's birthday so to speak, but he likes to think the day's theme is just as much about those who have achieved any victories, and continue to strive for them.

Sick or not, he wants to celebrate America and, most importantly, her.


	7. Sneezes, Sneezes, Sneezes and Sneezes

_**Author's Note:** Suspend yourself in a silly story of sneezes. Really, this is just a silly story I sneezed. Ridiculousness over 'awww'. _**  
><strong>

_**Disclaimer:** There was no actual sneezing in the production of this chapter. No noses were harmed and no innocent people, or otherwise, were infected._

_**Sneezing Setting:** -shrugs- Some season. Better earlier than later, Jenny must exist... It doesn't really matter._

* * *

><p><strong>In Sickness and in Health<br>**_Sneezes, Sneezes, Sneezes (and Sneezes)  
><em>_**aka**__ Sne, Snee, Sneee, SNEEZE  
><em>_**and**__ aka Sneezes Sneezed Sneezing_

* * *

><p>A single sneeze sounded through the silent precinct.<p>

"Go home, Castle."

Various hitches in his voice, another sneeze on the mucous-infested precipice, the sick man in question replied, "I'm—I'm—" sneezed, "fine. Just dus—dust, I prom—" sneezed again, "—ise."

Beckett set down her pen and turned her office chair his way. "It can't be that dusty in here. You've been sneezing since this morning. You're sick. Now go home."

"Duty calls," he replied, his mouth covered by a tissue.

"We solved plenty of murders before you so graciously gifted us with your presence. I'm sure we can manage solving a simple B-and-E gone wrong."

"Yeah, bro," Esposito chimed in from his desk, looking over his shoulder. "We got this."

Ryan nodded. "Jenny'll kill me if you get me sick. We're heading up to her Aunt's this weekend and if she thinks I'm trying to get out of it, I'll sleep on the couch for a solid month."

All three of the detectives were now staring at him. Admittedly, their pointed, instruction-filled looks could be a bit intimidating, like a quiet accusation from your kindergarten teacher. That did not mean he would relent. He felt fine!

The tingling itch in his burning nose returned, though. Another sneeze was coming—he could feel it—but Castle was too childishly stubborn not to "_show them_." He wrinkled his nose and opened his mouth, breathing in fresh, cool air and soothing the itch without picking.

"See? My nose is just a tad irritated by the dust. Or Esposito's overwhelming, pungent new perfume—I mean cologne. I'm fine. I'm _staying_."

Becket firmly set her lips and turned back to the files in front of her. Esposito narrowed his eyes at the writer, clearly conveying his resentment of Castle's call-out (and the truth behind the statement). Ryan rolled his desk chair just a bit further from the medically-infectious Castle, not that they were sitting close to begin with, and added a packet of crushed vitamins into his nasty-looking smoothie.

* * *

><p>A snot-slinging sneeze shouted in the shared office space… followed by another, higher-pitched sniffle and sneeze.<p>

Ryan groaned. Beckett struggled not to smirk and Ryan and to instead reprimand her insolent partner.

"See?" she accused, her tone obviously saying, _I told you this would happen._ "Now Ryan's sneezing."

Castle shirked, slightly sliding down in his seat, shoulder shrugged. His head was angled, making his red eyes peek from his out-of-place hair. "It's the dust," scorned innocence tried.

To no avail.

Standing from her seat, Beckett pointed at Castle. "You. Break room. Now."

"Really," he replied. "It was the dust, but now it's clearer over here! I haven't been sneezing… as much!"

Her body leaned over his as she said in a hushed yell, "It is _not_ the dust or Espo's _ridiculous _perfume. I can't have you getting my team sick; either you go to the break room for a while or you _go. home._"

"Don't take it out on me!" was his weak defense.

Esposito bumped into the conversation. "Dude, I look good. I spent, like, twenty extra minutes on my hair this morning. Don't ruin my date tonight with your nasty germs. If the ladies want a piece of this—" he stopped, stuck on the s-sound. It seemed like he was going to sneeze. "If the ladies want a piece of this," continued Esposito, "I'm going to deliver."

* * *

><p>The third sneeze sliced through the static, dust-free, cologne-riddled bullpen.<p>

Castle and Ryan sneezed in a chorus of chain reactions, one after the other, after the other, after the other.

"Damnit, man! The ladies are calling and I'm all sneezy!" Esposito accused amidst a series of sniffles.

Ryan hit his desk with his smoothie cup. "And Jenny is going to kill me!"

Castle just sneezed in response, the strong force behind it splashing some snot and saliva on Beckett's paperwork.

"That's it!" she resolved. "All of you, out!"

Suddenly struck with confidence to stand up now that he had a majority, the wet-nosed writer taunted, "What? Afraid you'll get sick, too?"

She rolled her eyes, hip cocked. "Seems only to infect men with over-inflated egos."

"Hey!" the various men protested.

"Seriously. Until you can stop sneezing, stay away," Beckett demanded.

There were mumbles, and, of course, more sneezing, but the three men eventually gathered their stuff and dragged their feet to the elevator.

* * *

><p>In the fashion of an adorable little puppy, she sneezed.<p> 


	8. Macho Men, Migraines, and ME's

_**Author's Note: **I've held-off posting the last chapter, which was the first chapter even written, until I finished some chapters I had in progress. Well... I finally finished this one! I'm not going to finish the others. SO, there's only one more left after this, and it's my absolute favorite. Thank you all for sticking with me, to those who actually did, and for all your support._

**_Setting:_**_ All I know is that it happens sometime after the S3 finale, and it situated somewhere in early S4. But who knows. I certainly don't. _

* * *

><p><strong>In Sickness and in Health<br>**_Of Macho Men, Migraines, and Medical Examiners (oh my!)_

* * *

><p>He definitely hadn't seen it coming, the blow of the hot metal pipe swung by a man a solid foot taller than himself with arms the width of Castle's own head. And people said he had a big head!<p>

Now his head felt even bigger and even more painful. The drugs weren't doing enough to dull the stitching pain. With the added symptom of vampire eyes, where any particle of light set his irises aflame, he was confined to the conference room, shades drawn, a cold cloth covering his eyes.

With a long vibration of his vocal cords, he groaned. "I. have the worse. migraine. ever," he complained.

"Maybe you should've stayed out-of-the-way of that copper pipe," answered the rich voice floating over his head.

"How 'wude," replied Castle, wincing at his failed Jar Jar Binks impression. He felt someone tug at the string sewn into his skin. "Ow!"

"You're lucky this laceration isn't deeper, but you're even luckier that our girl didn't get hurt because of your pig-headed tendency to rush into danger like some hormonal teenager with a death sentence!"

"Lanie!"

She purposely tugged again. "I'm serious, Castle. You two rushed in without any backup, putting her in even more danger! Instead of a pipe to your head it could have been a bullet to her heart!"

"I can take care of myself and Castle, Lanie," Beckett reprimanded, interrupting the conversation, if you could call it that, from the now-open doorway. Held close to said heart was a ceramic mug steaming with coffee, warm against the dry wax seal branded by a bullet between her breasts.

Lanie looked up from her work and turned to look at Beckett from over her shoulder. Castle chanced a peek from under the cloth. "I know that, sweetie," the medical examiner reasoned. "But had you two _waited_, there would've been no _need_ to protect yourselves!"

Beckett set her lips and pushed off the door jamb, making her way to Castle. He tucked his eyes back under the compress. She, too, hovered above his head with Lanie; he couldn't see her, but he could feel her proximity. Castle knew she wouldn't be showing the emotion, but he sensed her worry and the struggle to stay collected.

Lanie gave one last tug to his skin with satisfaction before patting a bandage over his wound. "I'm going to get more ice," she announced before standing from her perch. She added, "Don't you be getting her in any more trouble, now, Castle."

Neither Castle nor Beckett paid heed to her comment.

With only the two clicks of her heeled boot as proof to Castle's unseeing eyes, Beckett took Lanie's chair. After a few waging minus, her resolve wavering back and forth, she delicately spread her palm across the cloth on his forehead. Her fingers trembled.

"I lied."

Not even his lips twitched. His eyebrows were covered by the cloth, but Beckett was willing to bet he didn't even bat an eyelash or quirk a brow. "Kate," he sighed, a deep sound reverberating from his chest.

She rolled her eyes and lightly shook her head. "No, Castle. I recognize what happened."

Unsuccessfully, he lifted his feet up in the air to give himself leverage to sit up and look straight at her. Her sigh, and pressure on his still-throbbing head, brought him back to the couch. "I wasn't going to say anything. I wouldn't. You _know_ I wouldn't."

Her voice dropped. "I know you wouldn't," she affirmed. He hummed in response, something she took it as a sign to stop, that he was giving her a free pass.

But she didn't want any more passes or avoided conversations and missed opportunities.

"My lungs deflated. My heart raced. The grip on my gun was so tight I was losing the feeling in my fingers. My whole body began to float away." She looked towards the door, even though his eyes were covered and he was not looking at her. "I panicked."

Again, he remained still.

"It happens. I can usually control myself on the job. But he..."

"Looked like Coonan on a serious 'roid rage," Castle completed.

A pause. Then, "Yeah."

Finally, his thin lips quipped a small, tweaked grin. "Don't worry. That's why I'm here, to distract Macho Men wielding deadly weapons." He lifted one of his hands up to his forehead and enveloped hers.

* * *

><p>From the observation window, two detectives stopped the medical examiner who had a full bag of ice and an annoyed glare.<p>

"Look," the handsomer detective said, nodding his head to the scene in front of him and his partner.

Through the glass, the co-workers saw Castle's thumb tenderly rubbing Beckett's palm, and her cheeks flush. In that moment, those three knew that everything was on its way to being okay again.

With a sigh, though, Lanie said, "It won't be a bullet, but I hope he doesn't break it."

"Break what?"

"Her heart."


	9. Morning

_**Author's Note: **I waited a long time for this one, guys. You have, too, but you didn't know it. I wrote the first draft of this entirely on my iPhone when inspiration struck in the middle of the night sometime in early April. Months later and I am still excited. _

_I know I said there'd be no more after this. I still mean that. But I did just stumble upon a _really long _two-shot (hopefully) I have written that involves being sick. Since I mostly like it, I will be posting it sometime separately from this fic. Once posted, I will update this story with a link. __  
><em>

_Lastly, if anything sparks confusion, shoot me a review/PM. Thank you for all of your support and awesomeness. You all rock._

_**Setting: **It wouldn't be one of my stories if I had an actual setting. ;) It just... happens. As it should. (Although, apparently it occurs sometime after the introduction of Iron-Gates. For the record, it was written and finished well before the S4 finale, so there)._

* * *

><p><strong>In Sickness and in Health<br>**_Morning_

* * *

><p>On Monday morning, bright and early, her phone rang, the shrill of the vibrating phone rattling across her nightstand effectively shaking her awake. It was early, and, just as any other time she gets called at three in the morning, her head had a slight ache, her body felt heavy with sleep, and her stomach was unhappy. At the crime scene, the nausea increased. When Castle noticed, he took her coffee cup from her grasp and replaced it with a bland croissant. Drinking coffee on an empty stomach would only make the queasiness worse.<p>

She stayed up most of Monday night, working into the early hours of Tuesday morning before she headed home. A few hours later when she awoke to the alarm, her stomach gurgled. She shrugged and accepted a piece of plain toast, happy for the crunch of the bread but desiring nothing else on it. Castle wanted to offer her an array of jellies and jams, but he noticed the grimace that accompanied every bite and chose to refrain.

By Wednesday morning, she was used to the nausea and refused to do anything but work, even if she was sick. Having to rush to the kitchen sink as she was about to walk out the door to expel the liquid sitting in her stomach was not particularly ideal, but it was something she had come to fractionally accept.

Thursday she felt normal. But, her head was warm to the touch, and when Castle, ever so observant, noted the extra flush of her cheeks, Esposito and Ryan started showing an interest. She, of course, shot him a glare as she commanded the other two to get back to work.

Friday was bad. She rushed to the precinct bathroom twice in the morning. When the other two detectives brought lunch—Thai food—into the conference room where she and Castle had been scanning financials, her stomach rolled and she quickly excused herself. Her rushed exit caused Gates to notice and force Kate to go home for the weekend until the stomach bug passed. Taking Saturday and Sunday off had been a given, as she wanted to visit her mom and spend the rest of the weekend at home with family, but she had fully expected to work all of Friday.

With one last glare at her partner, she stalked towards the elevators. He rushed to gather his things and joined her, hot on her heels. If she still wasn't feeling well, he was going to make sure she took care of herself. After all, there was no reason for him to be there if the woman he shadows was absent. (Well, that and he figured Gates would not be happy to catch sight of his mug).

All of Saturday, she was restless. Despite the still-fleeting nausea and fever, she wanted to take a steamy shower and go to work. Castle stopped her and she was thus forced to stay cooped up like a hen all day.

Sunday morning she woke up with the imperative need to sprint into the bathroom before she could form any real coherent thought. Within seconds he was at her side, rubbing her back, pushing aside her hair. She struggled against his aid, tried to get him to leave her to be as she hovered over the porcelain bowl, but he proved insistent and stubborn. Normally, in another situation that did not involve her expelling the little food in her belly, she would have shoved him away and made him listen. He would have left her alone, understood her need for space, recognized her desire to figure things out and take care of herself.

She felt disgusting and weak. She hated the fact that he was sitting next to her, breathing in the scent of stomach acid and digested soup from the night before.

Her face was sticky with the sweat of a rough night's sleep and the panic accompanied by dry heaving. Her hair was oily and she definitely needed a shower. She certainly did not want anyone seeing her sporting such a lack of composure, him included.

She craved strength and normalcy, but found none. The closest thing she could grasp at was his presence, as unsettling as it was. She wanted nothing more than to be by herself and hide her weakness and body's betrayal, but she also craved his comfort.

In-between the times when she leaned over the bowl, she rested her head on his chest. She would grasp the fabric of his sleeve, or, once, his calloused fingers, and try to draw her strength from his. It was a long morning spent on the cool bathroom tile and she needed him there for every minute.

His fingers continued to run the length of her spine, slowly trailing down the ridge formed by every individual disk until he reached the waistline of her pants, where he would begin the ascent back up to the base of her neck. The ministrations managed to calm her, the errant feather-tracing of his fingers along her back and occasionally her forehead reminding her of her childhood when her mom would soothe her as she got sick. It was an alien concept, fully letting him take care of her. But, as the nausea got the best of her, she couldn't find it in herself to fight it; her instincts were screaming for her to give in.

So, she leaned into his touch, accepted the glass of water he had filled for her as she rested her head on the cold porcelain of the shower beside the toilet. As the nausea slowly decreased, she attempted to crack a witty smile and tease him about she didn't know what, but nothing much came. Her body was still clammy and weak, and she felt a heavy exhaustion beginning to flow through her limbs.

He sat back down beside her after she had taken a sip, his back leaning against the tub, and loosely wrapped an arm around her waist. His hands brushed a thick bundle of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Resting his head against hers, his lips pressed against her ear, he whispered, "Happy Mother's day, Kate."


End file.
